


Cracking the Ice

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shore leave Kirk had planned with Spock doesn't seem to be going so well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracking the Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ K/S Advent Calendar challenge of 2010, prompt #1. See the End Note for the full prompt info. Please note that I am not an adherent of the Star Trek: Enterprise canon. Whilst I have done some research in various places that integrate it, I do not necessarily abide by it. (See the warning above.) Many thanks to Jenna Hilary Sinclair for introducing the concept of _chenesi_ to the fandom. Many thanks, also, to my husband for the beta. (And it's still Christmas where I was born!)

 

"Come on, Spock. It'll be fun, you'll see!"

"Captain, I am unaccustomed to—"

"You won't become accustomed to it if you don't try it." Captain Kirk leaps off the leading edge of the precipice. "And it's Jim!" he yells as he slides through the air and down the daunting incline at breakneck speed.

Spock calculates the angle of the hill, the pathways through the – what did his captain called them? Oh, yes, 'moguls', though why they should be named after business royalty of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries is unfathomable to him. He continues calculating his trajectory, his balance and weight distribution on the skis and the thrust necessary to produce safe and efficient forward momentum and pushes off.

Six point two-five meters and thirteen point three-seven degrees starboard later, he is sprawled on his side attempting to uncross his skis and rise. Having no luck with the first within thirty Earth seconds, he curls his legs towards his chin and reaches for the quick release latches, grateful for his flexibility until he discovers himself sliding downwards on the packed snow while rotating in a slow spiral. One quick calculation later, and he jettisons the skis just in time to dig his feet into the icy substance and halt his undignified journey. He rises, dusts off as much snow as he can, orients himself and goes to pick up the skis, only to find two tracks pointing downwards and away from him.

He sighs as he watches the skis disappear, and trudges down the slope to meet his Captain.

They meet within two point three meters of the halfway point, Captain Kirk carrying one ski in his hand and looking as though he's suffered a perturbation. He holds the ski out in an accusatory fashion. "Spock?"

"Apologies, Captain. I hadn't intended to lose control of my descent."

"What happened?" The Captain looks down at Spock's feet. "Where's your other ski?"

"I ... miscalculated the angle of my right foot. The skis crossed and I fell at an awkward angle. When I couldn't extricate myself from my predicament, I was required to jettison the skis. The other one went ... that way." Spock gestures vaguely to his left.

Captain Kirk looks Spock up and down. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. The slope is not as steep as I initially thought—"

"Spock," says the Captain – Jim – with some difficulty, "this is the baby slope."

Spock looks at him.

"The beginner's slope."

Spock looks at him.

The Captain – Jim – sighs. "Look, why don't we find your other ski, and we can try again...."

"You do not need to try again. I am in need of practice." Spock controls a shiver as a gust of frozen air hits him in the face.

"Mmm...." Jim takes a vast and appreciative inhale. "Isn't the fresh air great?"

"As you please, Jim. Shall I proceed to locate my other ski whilst you try your hand at a more challenging incline?"

"I'll come with you, Spock. It wouldn't be right to leave you on your own. Besides, we'll find it in half the time with two of us looking." Jim claps Spock on the back just as they start to move.

The blow catches Spock off-guard and he misses his footing enough to fall again and slide three point seven meters in a slow spin on his back before he encounters a patch of less slippery snow.

Jim is there in an instant, executing a perfect stop to block Spock's downward progression. "I'm sorry, Spock." He holds out his hand.

Spock takes the proffered hand and rises. "It is of no consequence, Captain."

Jim – Captain Kirk – shakes his head. "It went that way, you said?"

*****

"Are you all right, Spock?" Kirk helps his friend up from the snow for the seventh time.

"I am ... moist, but undamaged." Spock brushes off snow, but there is no denying the stain of water spreading across his back. Or his backside.

"Let's ski back to the hotel—Spock, what...? Oh!"

Spock stumbles against Kirk, his ankle twisting as half of his right ski turns left. "Apologies, Captain." He attempts to right himself, but that action, coupled with the treacherous surface and the slope of the ground on which they stand, makes him slide into Kirk and topples them both into the snow.

Kirk huffs and puffs as he extricates himself from the tangle of skis, limbs and the tree trunk that had caused Spock's initial fall. "Hold on," he says, restraining Spock with a touch. "Let me help you with those skis."

"I would prefer to—"

"Just ... sit, Spock!" Kirk quells his impatience. "Please? I promise I'll be quick."

"Very well, Captain."

Kirk removes the broken one, biting his tongue against asking how in the universe Spock managed to break an unbreakable ski. He holds it up and goggles at it as the broken front end dangles by the last intact strands of super-polymer. His reverie is interrupted by a click and a shuffling rustle. When he looks up, Spock is standing, holding the left ski in one hand and ridding himself of more snow with the other.

"Shall we proceed to the hotel, sir?"

Kirk winces. And then he notices the slight stammer in the 's'. "Of course, Spock. Can you stand the walk, or shall we call for a lift?"

Spock is already trudging toward the hotel when he says, "I can walk."

Kirk looks in the direction of the hotel and discovers that it is two hundred meters in front of them. "Oh. Yes, of course you can. And then you can warm up with some hot chocolate."

"Vulcans are allergic to chocolate."

Kirk catches up with Spock. "Oh. I didn't know that. Well, maybe some kind of tea, then, or plomeek soup?"

Whatever Spock says in reply is muted by a gust of blowing snow.

*****

They are eating dinner in the restaurant, which is pleasantly warm by the fire. It is also quiet, thanks to the nook that his Captain had reserved for them. Spock is nearly warm enough now, though he will never tell Jim – Captain Kirk – just how his body has been affected, either by the cold or by Jim's – Captain Kirk's – continued proximity. It is the first shore leave they have spent together in a recreational capacity, and it is proving a challenge to his body and to his emotional control.

"Spock?"

"Captain?"

"I just asked you what you wanted from Santa Claus and you said, 'Yes, sir'."

"Forgive me, Captain. The ... skiing must have affected me more than I thought."

"Are you all right? Did you get too cold?" Jim searches the pocket in which he tends to keep his communicator. "I'll call McCoy—"

"There is no need to disturb Doctor McCoy. The hotel has a qualified physician on staff—"

"Waiter!"

"Jim. I am merely fatigued from the day's exertion and my body is using energy to regain my normal temperature."

Jim stands down enough to wave off the waiter with what Spock has learned to recognize as an apologetic smile. "Are you okay staying here to finish the meal, or do you need to go up to the room and, uh, bake?"

"The bakers here are quite adequate, Captain. And they have equipment more suited to the purpose than that which can be found in our hotel room."

Jim chuckles. "'Quite adequate', eh? That's high praise from you."

"Indeed. They have shown me a new dimension to plomeek soup with the addition of this wheat-based flatbread."

Jim's smile is wondrous. "Really? Spock, that's astounding!"

Spock lifts an eyebrow in inquiry.

"That one of our bakers could introduce you to a new and – pleasurable? – experience with one of your favorite traditional foods. But surely your mother tried, yes?"

"Sarek was of the opinion that traditional foods should be consumed in traditional fashion."

"In other words, he was set in his ways?"

Spock looks at Jim and finds his gaze returned. He feels a small upturn at the corners of his mouth and chooses not to quell it.

"So maybe the skiing was a mistake." Jim's change of subject jars Spock's sense of order.

"Do you wish to end our shore leave?" Spock feels a sinking sensation and recognizes it as one that he's felt several times before. Ninety-six point four percent of those instances have centered around Jim.

"No! No, of course not. I just wonder if we should go to Arizona, instead."

"Were there not other activities in which you wished to engage that involve frozen water drops?"

Jim's face brightens. "Oh, sure! There's ice skating, snowboarding, snowshoeing, snowtubing, building snowmen, making snow forts – specially if you've got a lot of people to help fight off the enemy.... What?"

"I fail to see how even the human definition of 'relaxation' could involve doing that which one must do as an unfortunate and potentially lethal necessity on a routine basis."

"We play chess pretty regularly. What about that?"

"Chess is a game of logic and strategy. It also helps sharpen one's mental faculty and improve military strategy in time of need. Without requiring one to endure physical blows," Spock adds, as Jim is about to seize the opening.

The shape of Jim's mouth changes. "Oh. Well, then, how about building snowmen?"

Spock shifts position to hide his reflexive shiver. "I was curious about ice skating."

"I thought you didn't take well to skidding along frozen surfaces."

"As a Vulcan, I am, of course, accustomed to sand skids. I believe that my primary difficulty with skiing was due to the skis."

Jim's eyes dart to the nearest tables before he leans in and mutters in Spock's ear, "Don't let anyone around here hear you blaming your equipment!"

"On the contrary, Captain, I am blaming myself. I have never before attempted to maneuver with such footwear, and I failed to become accustomed to it whilst on an unfamiliar, sloping surface."

Jim shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Spock. You're so graceful – uh, good at moving – that I didn't even think about all that."

Spock does quell his reaction this time, but he files away Jim's – Captain Kirk's – compliment for the next time that he needs emotional fortification. Or must undergo McCoy's ministrations.

"You are aware that ice skating requires you to balance on a thin blade under each foot while you're sliding around on ice, right?"

"My sense of balance is excellent. I foresee no difficulties pursuing such actions on a flat surface as long as the blades do not extend point six meters in front of and behind my feet."

Jim shakes his head again, laughing softly. "Okay, but bring along the heavy-duty gloves in case we have to make snowmen, instead."

Spock cannot quell his shiver at the thought.

*****

It is cold. Breathtakingly cold, even by Kirk's standards, and he's the one who insisted on spending his shore leave in a town in Colorado he'd never heard of at a hotel geared toward quiet adults. Or rather, adults seeking refuge from frenetic activity once inside its old walls. He splurged on a suite because he knew that Spock would want privacy for sleep and meditation, no matter how much time they seemed to want to spend together these days. And because, no matter how much he might want things to be different, he and Spock wouldn't be likely to engage in the activities most of the other couples were no doubt pursuing once the slopes closed for the night.

As they watch the skaters on the carefully frozen pond, Kirk is dismayed by three things: first, the number of couples skating; second, the number of people falling down and having to be helped and/or held up by a partner or an instructor; third, the fact that a few children are whizzing around the pond and through the crowd, knocking over the unwary and inexperienced while nobody does anything about it. Make that four things.

And then there is the thought of him holding Spock around the waist – practically _cuddling_ the man – that launches itself straight into his brain, down his spine and into his groin and won't let any part of him go. Five things.

The sixth thing is that he's thoroughly enjoying being pressed up against Spock and not really being able to get away because the hordes on the sidelines are squeezed in with them in the one space on the pond's perimeter that's been cleared of trees and is flat enough that onlookers aren't likely to slide onto the ice.

"Jim," Spock says quietly into his ear.

 _Seven!_

"I beg your pardon?"

"Er, seven people joining hands on the ice. Look! It's ten, now. They're going to—"

"Jim, you are shivering, and I cannot think correctly in this degree of cold. Perhaps it would be best if we postponed any attempt at ice skating." Spock looks and sounds nervous.

"What's the matter, Spock?"

"I ... regret that I must also decline to build snowmen at this temperature."

Kirk snorts. "It's way too cold to build a proper snowman, and this is the wrong kind of snow." He smiles.

Spock cringes in his not-so-secret Vulcan way.

"I've got something much better in mind."

*****

His Captain – Jim – is shivering.

Spock tries again. "Jim, the blanket is big enough to share."

"No, Spock, I'm fine. You take it. I've m-missed the cold since I've been in sssspace."

"There is too much material for my comfort."

"No, rrreally, Ssspock, I'm fffine."

Spock sighs and musters his strength to wrench his way free of the heavy, woolen blanket in which his Captain – Kirk – has bound him. He emancipates himself without dislocating either shoulder, but it's a near thing. "Captain, it is illogical to risk gangrenous extremities without due cause." He dumps half the blanket over the Captain's lap and breathes a sigh of relief as he ensconces himself in the remainder to his content.

After a moment, while he is not looking, Spock feels Jim do the same. It is when Jim bumps into him that Spock recognizes the onset of hypothermia. He eliminates the remaining space between them.

"Spock! What—"

"Captain, we are five point seven kilometers from the hotel and are not scheduled to return there for another zero point six hours if we maintain our current speed."

"And your point is...?"

Spock exposes and grasps a patch of Jim's right wrist. "Your body temperature is approximately thirty-four point nine degrees Celsius when it had been at exactly thirty-seven degrees when we left the hotel. You are entering the beginning stages of hypothermia and your decision to 'go natural' means that we are left without thermal shielding."

"Oh. But that's all right, Spock, I've got half the blanket now. I'll be fine. You don't have to—"

"The sharing of body heat is the safest and most efficient method of regaining lost temperature. If you do not allow this with myself or the driver, I shall be forced to terminate this tour and call for emergency transport to a suitable medical facility."

"I don't see what you're fussing about, Spock. A little cold never hurt anyone in the Kirk family. Besides, the horses are doing fine."

"The horses have thermal shielding, Captain."

The driver turns his head and smirks at them. "Third degree, professional grade."

"Third degree ... professional grade?" Jim sounds as he does when he's about to tip over his king.

"I splurged," the driver says.

"It is regulation for horses working in a commercial capacity in temperatures below negative ten degrees Celsius." Spock counts his effort well spent when the driver gives him a sour look. He thinks of McCoy.

Jim – the Captain – sighs. "You win, Spock." And then his eyes gleam. "But if you're going to cuddle me during a sleigh ride, you really have to call me Jim."

Spock sighs as Jim turns toward him and slips an arm around his back. He tries not to think about how it feels to have Jim – Captain – Jim – huddle against him.

*****

It's taking Kirk a lot longer to warm up than he had thought it would, and he has no plans to say one word about it to Spock. He can feel the cold about halfway into his bones, and sitting by the fire isn't doing a thing. He hears Spock moving in the other room, signaling the end of the meditation period, and shifts a meter away from the fire, reaching for his hot chocolate. He is about to pour a good shot of whisky into it when the bottle is lifted with inexorable grace from his hand.

"Inadvisable, Jim."

"Call me 'Captain'."

"Very well, Captain. You are aware of the protocol regarding hypothermia and alcohol, are you not?"

Kirk isn't sure what bothers him more: Spock's effortless transition to calling him 'Captain' or the man's calling him out. He sips the chocolate. "I'm over the hypothermia."

Spock looks at Kirk's hands wrapped tightly around the stoneware mug and points a medical scanner at him, concentrating on his lower arms and legs. "Internal temperature thirty-five point six seven degrees—"

"Which is within normal limits." Kirk reaches for the twenty-five year old Macallan in Spock's hand.

"—temperature of extremities has risen to thirty-four point nine degrees," Spock finishes.

Kirk's face falls. "No wonder I'm still freezing," he mutters, clutching the hot chocolate all the closer.

"Jim, need I remind you that the staff physician provided you with thermal replenishment units in three sizes and configurations tailored to your measurements?"

Kirk shook his head. "I've always hated those things. Too hot for my blood."

"And yet you sit two point four meters from a fire that tests even my Vulcan limits of tolerance."

"That's different," Kirk mutters, rubbing his left shin absently. "I can get away from it if I want to."

There is a pause. Feet padding on thick carpet. Sonorous depths of a bottle being placed on wood. Another pause. Kirk _doesn't_ feel Spock's eyes on him. A shuffle punches through the crackling of the fire and the silence that screams in Kirk's head. He buries his nose in the cup of thick, dark, peppery chocolate – overly thick, overly comforting, so hot – and takes a slow, deliberate sip of it. Deliberate enough that his heart skips a beat in surprise as he feels the airflow and heat of someone sitting down next to him on the carpet.

His eyes widen at the sight of a flat chessboard spread in front of them and he turns, looking up just enough to find Spock's fists in front of him. He points to the one on his right – Spock's left – and blinks as the fist turns over and opens. It is not the pawn that startles him – he thinks it's the white one – but that Spock is naked to the waist, meditation robe artfully draped from hips to mid-thigh.

"Heat too much for you?" Kirk is grateful that his voice is steady.

"Yes." Spock sets up the pieces on the board.

"I haven't played two-D chess since the Academy."

"Neither have I."

Kirk scoots around to sit opposite Spock, shielding his friend from the heat and focusing ruthlessly on the chessboard. He makes his first move and looks up.

Spock's micro-expression is a mix of frustration and amusement, with an underlayment of perturbation. This could be good or bad for Kirk's game, but what is most unusual is that that fleeing glimpse occurred after the very first move. Usually, Spock gives his initial reaction away at least three moves into the game.

As the expression flits away, there is a trace of something else under it, and Kirk looks studiously at the board and swallows.

Fifteen minutes in, and things are not looking good for Kirk's men. He is just barely hanging on to his queen and his moves are a jumble of chance, even for him. He is unaccountably tired, and finds the temperature difference between his front and back debilitating. He is shivering so much that he knocks over the bishop he wants to move.

Spock is at Kirk's side in a flash of motion, robe back on, lifting him to his feet.

Kirk is vaguely aware of Spock talking to him, but everything is a blur until he finds Spock stripping him efficiently and making sure that he gets into the bed. The next thing he knows, Spock is in the same bed, naked, pressed against him, pulling impossibly cold covers around them both and folding him into a sturdy embrace. Kirk doesn't hesitate to cling to that warmth. He falls asleep.

*****

It is three hours before Jim's temperature returns to acceptable levels. Spock waits for his Captain – his friend – to turn over and out of his arms before slipping out of the bed, picking up his clothing and moving to Jim's sleeping quarters. He turns the heat up from the frigid twenty degrees to twenty-seven, which will help him compensate a little for the chill he still feels from Jim's skin. It will not help him to rid himself of his illogical physical reaction to sharing his body heat with Jim. Nor will Jim's scent, which still clings to the bed. He regrets the acute sense of smell he inherited from his mother.

He sits cross-legged upon the floor and begins a meditation designed to cool physical impulses.

He knows after three minutes that it will be unsuccessful. He sighs and succumbs to what his father always termed 'cheating'. He thinks of an angry lematya leaping at him, teeth first, while his arm is trapped and broken under a boulder.

That works after five point seven minutes.

Spock rises, quelling the pain in his left, 'broken' arm, and inserts himself between the sheets.

Unfortunately, the problem returns when he turns to the side, thus increasing the concentration of Jim's scent when his nose touches the pillow. Spock attempts the lematya image again, but knows instantly that it will not work. He attempts the image of the Stella droid on Mudd's planet of androids.

Success is achieved, though it takes longer than it should. So much so, that he erases the memory of the internal time stamp. He goes to sleep remembering I-chaya. He dreams of Jim Kirk's silken skin pressed against his own.

*****

Kirk leans wistfully on the railing overlooking the indoor skating rink. He is no longer in obvious trouble, but part of him is still bone-cold and he cannot, in good conscience, trouble Spock again with his reckless disregard for the coldest snap Breckenridge has seen in recent history. The hotel staff are crowing about it constantly, and bragging about having kept the indoor rink in working order as a living history site when Aspen and the other big Winter Fun Region sites had closed theirs down decades before. Never have the current owners seen so much business.

And yes, it is fun to see so many people enjoying themselves, and great that someone has finally taken it upon themselves to eject deliberate trouble makers of all ages, and the collective warmth of a few hundred people mitigating the chill over the ice is comforting in a way he doesn't want to admit, but he really can't focus on that. All he can think about is falling asleep shivering with cold and the effort to suppress awkward hope in Spock's arms and wishing that Spock was with him now.

Having awakened in a state of arousal and dissolving dream with fragments of passion surrounding Spock's image, Jim realized quickly that he was in Spock's room – he hadn't expected that – and that his arousal wouldn't go away without attention. As he sat up, he found a hotel dressing gown hanging on one of the posts at the end of the bed and breathed a sigh of relief. It didn't take much effort to cover himself enough to walk briskly to the bathroom and take care of things.

But Spock wasn't there. He hasn't seen Spock since last night, and he's wondering why. He really hopes that he didn't become aroused while Spock was warming him up. Or that if he did, Spock would forgive him and still be his friend. He bargains with whatever might be listening that if Spock keeps him, he'll never again push for shore leave together on a cold planet. That's if 'shore leave together' is even a viable concept, which it might not be.

As a dozen people shuffle past him, the loneliness of being all by himself in a building of milling people hits him like a starship in its death-dive. There is a flash in his brain in which he sees his life revealed before him, but he can only see one moment of it. Quicker than an eye-blink, it is gone. Except that Kirk now _knows_ , beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he will die alone. He is glad to be holding on to the railing, and that he can pick a moving target at random and follow it while he puts himself back together, if he can.

"Jim."

Kirk turns as though he's been struck.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you."

"No, that's quite all right, Spock. Just wool-gathering." It is a struggle not to weep at the sight of Spock. "Where've you been? I thought maybe you'd gone back to the ship or decided to try Arizona." He hopes it doesn't sound as hollow as he feels.

"I have done neither."

"I gathered." Kirk looks at him.

"I have been in search of ice skates."

Kirk considers falling over the railing. "I ... just planned to rent some."

"I, too, looked into that possibility earlier this morning, but there were no skates available in my size that took Vulcan foot structure into account."

Kirk lets Spock's words and voice sink in. "Uh, yes, of course, it's really important to have skates that fit and, uh, support you properly."

"Precisely."

After a pause, Kirk asks, "Any luck?"

"Yes, though I had to arrange transport to Aspen. Fortunately, my rank and association with you and the _Enterprise_ enabled me to achieve that goal today, rather than tomorrow." Spock holds up a pair of striking black skates. "Would you care to accompany me to the ice?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Kirk says, with a grin. "But we'll have to wait until they call the next shift. And I've got to rent some skates!"

*****

"No, Jim!" Spock slips and twists his way from the arms reaching towards him and regains a stunned balance as he finds himself speeding toward the wall. He barely has time to perform the necessary equation of trajectory, mass and distance before he must apply the appropriate muscles to stopping himself with minimum damage. He finds that he must apply six times more force to the wall to keep himself upright than he had allowed. He finds his balance points and remains attached to the wall as Jim skates towards him.

Jim is graceful on the ice, and Spock can do nothing but gaze at his approaching figure. "If I'd known you were planning a move like that, I wouldn't have tried to help."

"The maneuver was unplanned."

"Really... I never would've guessed." Then, "You all right?"

"Yes. I ... seem to have miscalculated the drag coefficient of the ice."

"The ... drag coefficient of the ice." Jim rubs his jaw with one hand. Spock has noticed over time that he usually does that when he is attempting not to laugh. "I must admit I've never thought of ice as having a drag coefficient. Although I know that all substances do," he hastens to add.

Spock nods. "I should test my recalculation." He starts to push himself away from the wall, only to find his left skate sliding forward at an unexpected rate. He clutches at the wall as Jim starts to reach for him. "Thank you, Captain, but I do not require your assistance."

Jim withdraws. "All right, Spock. I'll just go skate on my own. Get my ice legs back." He looks at Spock for a fraction of a second before turning and skating into an available space.

Spock watches, wondering why Jim seemed suddenly ... hurt?

He moves a skate experimentally on the ice whilst holding on to the wall, focusing on improving his relationship with the drag coefficient of water frozen in this matrix. Mastering the practice of ice-skating will add to his physical skill set and serve a useful purpose if he is to escape the rink. It also makes it impossible for him to worry about Jim's unspoken reaction.

His initial effort when he pushes away from the wall is successful. If he focuses on the intricacies of maintaining a distance of point six meters from the wall whilst building and maintaining a safe speed within the context of the body of skaters and adjusting for the perturbations of surface created by those in front of him, he finds that the sensation of gliding on ice is almost as pleasant as that of gliding through air. He finds that he can begin to think of a new series of fractal sets he'd been exploring in his spare time on the _Enterprise_ at Jim's concern that the crew maintain a healthy balance of interests.

Jim had chided him for being overly concerned with scientific matters during his off hours. Spock had tried to argue that McCoy spent approximately forty percent of his spare time performing medical experiments and keeping up with the latest discoveries and techniques, and that Chief Engineer Scott famously allocated ninety-one percent of his to reading his technical manuals. Jim's face had assumed the expression normally reserved for having eaten a sour fruit. Spock's difficulty refraining from pointing out Jim's recreational focus on military strategy had been heavily mitigated by his own enjoyment of their frequent chess games.

A lately familiar flush of what Jim and McCoy have defined as affection rushes through Spock as he hears Jim's voice cheering his progress on the ice. He turns towards the sound and away from his circuit around the perimeter, the untried maneuver posing no difficulty.

"You've been holding out on me!" Jim is smiling.

Spock glides towards him.

"Hey, want to slow down? Spock?"

"I – cannot stop...."

Spock also cannot prevent the sense of horror as Jim sets his face and braces himself.

But Jim catches him without falling and risking further hypothermia.

And Spock hasn't fallen, either. They are clutching each other's upper arms – bracing themselves against each other – and spinning, looking into each other's eyes, providing each other a steady point on which to fix and avoid dizziness. But Spock finds himself losing that benefit as he gazes at Jim's eyes. Humans call them windows to the soul, and rarely fail to express emotion with them, but Jim's have always had the illogical effect of captivating him. So much so that as he and Jim slow, he finds himself unsteady on his feet and perfect prey for the pack of five children he doesn't notice until he and Jim are falling to the ground after the impact. He makes sure to pull Jim on top of him.

*****

Kirk winces as he holds the door for Spock. The man is walking with a stately grace that has fooled the hotel staff and guests throughout dinner, in that they've all deferred to him as though he were Vulcan aristocracy. But Kirk and the staff physician know differently.

Kirk closes the door and locks it. The young ice hooligans aren't staying at this hotel, but he's not taking any chances.

Spock goes straight to his room, presumably to bake in the heat and meditate.

Kirk sighs and sits by the fire. His residual hypothermia wasn't helped by the pile-up on the ice, especially since he was on the bottom. Well, Spock was on the bottom, and he was on Spock, which provided a bonus of warmth in more ways than he'd bargained for until things got really bad.

He shakes his head. Perhaps he really shouldn't have suggested this trip to Spock. What he meant to be a fun break for them and a chance to show off an earth winter to his best friend seems to have turned into a disaster, and he feels helpless to do anything about it. With the warmth of the fire and no Spock to distract him, his elbow aches suddenly, making him grimace. He pushes up his sleeve and twists and turns his arm for a better view, hurting it even more. The bruise is blooming, so he reaches into his pocket for the salve Bones had given him before he beamed down for this 'damn fool vacation plan', and applies it. It warms and soothes the pain away, and he remembers that Bones gave him three extra tubes for Spock.

With renewed vigor, he fetches one from his first aid kit and heads for Spock's room.

He knocks on the door.

Kirk can hear movement inside, but there is no reply.

He would normally turn away and go back to brooding or take a shower, but something stops him this time. A sense....

He knocks again. "Spock?"

"Come in." The voice sounds a little tired.

Kirk enters. "I brought you some—"

Spock is standing, but just barely. He is also out of his shirt, which is spilled on the floor like a trail of pain.

"Spock...." Kirk moves and reaches to touch before thinking about Spock's bruising and letting his hand drop. "I have some salve." He proffers a tube of it.

"Thank you, Jim. I will try it." Spock sits on the bed. He has not taken the tube.

Kirk is at his side in a second, hands gently grasping bruised arms. "Here, let me help...." He eases Spock down onto the bed, despite the stiffness developing in the muscles beneath his hands. He acts with calm inevitability, thinking of Spock's injuries rather than his own emotional response and hoping that it's enough to put his reticent friend at ease.

But Spock is lying on his back with a look in his eyes that Kirk hasn't seen since Deneva. His breathing is unsteady. His torso is a study in shades of jade. There's a particularly vivid splotch of green blooming over a rib that's too close to his heart.

Kirk swallows. "Spock, your ribs—"

"Are ... intact."

"Well, that's good to know." Kirk pauses before holding up the salve. "McCoy said this would be good for you when I got you 'as good as killed'. Want to try it?"

"Yes."

Kirk gives him a gentle smile. "Now I know you're in trouble." He hands the tube to Spock.

Spock brings his hands together very slowly and starts to remove the cap.

"Do you, uh, want some help with that?"

Spock holds the tube up for Kirk to take.

"Shouldn't you be going into a healing trance?" Kirk squeezes out a small portion of salve and applies it gently to a bruise on Spock's arm.

"My injuries are not serious enough."

"Your—" Kirk contains his outburst. "Want me to shoot you with one of those antique rifles so they are?" He addresses another contusion on Spock's arm.

"That will not be necessary, Captain."

"Glad to hear it, Spock. How's the salve working?"

"It is performing adequately."

"High praise." Kirk smiles a bit as he finishes up with Spock's left arm and moves to the right.

Spock inhales sharply.

Kirk looks up to see the look of pain being schooled away. "Sorry." He strokes an unbruised patch of arm in apology before resuming his task. He covers the scrapes and bruises on the arm, soothing his way past an arch-shaped bruise – probably where the kid with the prickly hair got Spock with the tip of its skate boot – a rectangular patch of green – hockey stick head – and a ragged scrape that looks like someone raked Spock with a cog from a rusty machine. And then he picks up Spock's hand, balled into a fist, and holds it with great care between his own. "Let me see."

There is a look of discomfort – pain? – on Spock's face. And maybe something else that Kirk reads as embarrassment, though it doesn't make sense.

Kirk strokes down the underside of a pale wrist, barely touching the closed fingers. "Let me help."

Spock's fingers uncurl, revealing the angry gash Kirk expected. Despite its partial healing, Kirk feels a white heat of anger at the kid who jumped onto Spock's palm, accident or no. "Too bad Bones isn't here with his gadgets."

"It is unfortunate that such technology is not available to civilians." Spock's eyes have a tightness that Kirk knows to mean pain.

"I'll be gentle, but this might hurt...." Kirk squeezes a thin line of salve along the wound and smoothes it in with two finger pads.

Spock moans, eyes pressed shut.

"I'm so sorry, Spock." Kirk keeps Spock's opened fingers between his hands, waiting for the salve to soak into wound and skin.

"It was my failure to calculate stopping distance and technique that caused my injuries."

"No, you were doing fine – _we_ were doing fine – until those junior thugs started knocking people down." Kirk strokes Spock's fingers, eyes cast at the gash. "I shouldn't have made you come here."

"You did not 'make me come here'. You merely put your wishes ... assertively."

Kirk smiles, shaking his head. "You mean I brow-beat you into coming along."

"Yes." There is a miniscule richness in Spock's voice.

Kirk looks up and melts a little. "How's your hand?"

"The discomfort has – it is feeling better."

"And your arms?"

"They are now more functional." Spock raises his free hand towards the tube of salve. The lethargy in his voice and movement belie his words.

"Good." Kirk releases Spock's hand, pretending he hasn't seen his friend's attempt, and squeezes out some more ointment. "I must have fallen on you pretty hard." He daubs and smoothes over the greenish patch on Spock's left upper torso.

"It was not your impact but that of the three people who were pushed on top of you that caused the abrupt interlocking of our ribs."

Kirk winces, remembering the pain of it. "You do have a way with words, Mr. Spock."

"I merely state the facts, Captain."

"Quite graphically." Kirk rubs salve over the corresponding patch on Spock's right side and then addresses the line of disc-shaped marks just to the left of Spock's sternum. "Remind me not to wear buttons next time we go skating."

"Next time?"

Even though he expected it, Kirk's heart sinks at the trepidation in Spock's voice. "I'm joking, Spock." He squeezes out a good blob of ointment, focusing on the hematoma that had worried him most. "This will probably hurt."

Spock sighs and concentrates. "I am ready."

Kirk firmly expels the desire to kiss Spock before he touches the salve to the bruise.

Spock's sharp intake of breath is silent, discernible only by the abrupt expansion of his ribcage.

"I'm sorry." Kirk soothes the ointment in as quickly as he can, letting his hand linger over the injury for a moment before realizing that Spock probably wouldn't appreciate it.

Their eyes meet as Kirk removes his hand.

Time stops.

They breathe and withdraw, each in his way.

Kirk is both relieved and disappointed. "Let me know when you're ready for me to do your back."

"Thank you."

"Any time." Kirk sits with his own thoughts, wondering how to make this up to Spock, planning how to maneuver a shore leave on a planet of Spock's choice sooner than Starfleet regs allow.

"Jim. You are not responsible for my injuries."

"So you keep saying," Kirk says, ruefully, "but you wouldn't have them if we hadn't come here."

"Indeed. I might have been bitten by a le-matya or stretched by a Quantian bat-spider."

"Yes, well – wait ... I can understand the le-matya, but a bat-spider?"

"I've been hoping to explore the arachnid life of Quantia for four point seven years."

"But the summer on the eastern pole only lasts for three days."

"And the temperature at the midpoint of that season is negative forty-seven degrees Celsius."

Kirk nods as he rewrites his preconceptions. "It's a wonder the spiders grow to six feet, not including the legs."

"That is precisely why I wish to study them."

"So ... you don't mind the cold here that much?"

"It is not an insurmountable obstacle."

Kirk looks down at the angry bruise he's just treated. It is less bright, and the muscles around it look less tense. "Are you ready to turn over?"

Spock closes his eyes and tests a breath. "I regret that I am not."

"There's no rush." Kirk resists the urge to touch. "So we've got three days left. What do you want to do with them? Apart from studying six-foot arachnids...."

The corners of Spock's mouth curl up one scant millimeter. "There are no two-meter arachnids native to Earth." He looks – gazes – into Kirk's eyes. And then he pulls away again, without moving so much as an eyelid. "I believe I can turn over now."

Kirk spots him, but doesn't need to help.

Spock's back is a more uniform shade of grayed jade, as if he had frostbite over one big bruise. There is a hitherto unnoticed contusion on his right elbow and an ugly blotch at the base of his neck.

Kirk winces, checking in his pocket to find his own partially used tube of salve. "Spock, do you mind if I turn up the heat in here? I'm a bit chilly."

"The temperature is twenty-seven point seven eight degrees."

"Brrrr..."

"Raising the temperature would be acceptable."

Kirk rises and adjusts the reproduction thermostat up three degrees.

*****

Spock strongly suspects that Jim is lying. He would be certain of it were it not for Jim's continuing trouble with hypothermia. However, he finds he cannot concentrate on that while Jim's hands soothe his cold, bruised skin. Even without the ointment, Jim's hands are balm. It has always been thus, though it shames him to admit it.

"I don't remember this one." Jim's voice is soft, expressing the concern Spock can feel in the hands that smooth the salve into the most painful hematoma at the base of his neck.

"You were incapacitating the ... 'Center', I believe they called her."

Jim's fingers soften on the bruise. "She kicked you on the way down, didn't she?"

"I believe it was accidental."

"But it hurts."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry." Jim sighs, fingers gliding up Spock's neck just under his hair. "I'm saying that a lot, this trip."

Spock hisses as Jim's finger touches the place where the Center's skate tip had impacted and dug into the base of his scalp.

"Spock?" Jim's fingers probe the area with care. "Wow! She really got you there." The fingers withdraw, and Spock must control the urge to moan at the loss. But then they return, laden with McCoy's ointment and Jim's exquisite gentleness.

Nonetheless, it hurts. Spock can't keep the tension in his neck from betraying him.

"Almost done," Jim murmurs, his fingers lifting as much as possible as he completes the treatment of that wound. "There." The hands are gone and there is a pause.

Spock hears a much larger amount of ointment being squeezed from a tube, followed by Jim's hands rubbing together. And then those hands are on both sides of his back, soothing warmed ointment into his chilled, bruised skin.

It is agony and ecstasy, the play of pain and balm as Jim ministers to him. There is no place on his back that does not hurt. Neither is there any place on his back that does not yearn for the healing of Jim's touch or the mental susurrus that whispers through it - _desire, love, regret, worry, love, concern, affection, need, love, control, care, respect, distance, everything, love...._

But when Jim's hands rub over his _chenesi_ , he tenses in surprise. They should not feel that way. It is not his Time. He should not feel this aroused, not when he is shielding and it is not the Time.

The hands smooth over them again, and Spock feels his penis harden so fast in the wrong position that he gasps. He cannot move to relieve his predicament, lest Jim become suspicious.

The hands are gone immediately. "Did I hurt you?"

Spock takes the excuse of answering Jim to turn slightly, thus easing the situation for his prominent erection. "It is painful," he evades.

"I'm sorry. I'll be gentle, but those lumps look like they need treatment." Jim squeezes out a bit of ointment onto each one.

Spock moans.

"That sensitive, huh? I wish this wasn't necessary, but I'll go as lightly as I can...." Jim's hands skim Spock's primaries in an exquisite tease.

"Ahh, Jim!" Spock feels his penis begin to emit the lubricating fluid necessary for penetration.

"I'm so sorry, Spock. I'll be quick." There is a pause, and then the hands are back, rubbing faster and a little firmer.

Spock presses his face into the pillow to keep his mouth shut. _Control!_ It is impossible against the force of emotion pouring through Jim's fingers. It is emotion he has avoided for so long because of his own, sheer _want_. And then he realizes what is happening.

Quicker than the lightning in a sand fire, Spock turns and grasps Jim's wrist. "Thee must stop!"

Jim freezes, his face turning white from pain.

Spock lets go in horror. "Forgive...."

"Only if you tell me what the hell just happened." Jim massages his wrist.

Spock does not understand why Jim is still on the bed. "I cannot," he says at last.

Jim counters with quiet force. "I need to know, both as your Captain and your friend."

Jim is right, Spock knows. Perhaps he can explain the sexual anatomy of Vulcan males without having to mention his embarrassing predicament. At least the shame of having hurt his Captain seems to allow his erection to subside enough that he can sit up and speak with some dignity. Rather, it does until Jim grasps his arm in an attempt to help.

Fortunately, Jim's eyes remain steadfastly on Spock's. Unfortunately, the tube of McCoy's salve slips through Jim's salve-slicked fingers and lands next to Spock's thigh.

Jim _sees_. "Oh. Uhm, look, Spock ... I, uh, didn't know that the lower back was an erogenous zone for Vulcans. I'm, uh, sorry if I ... embarrassed you. It wasn't intentional."

"It is not your fault."

"That's ... good to know." Jim does not need to utter the words for the order to be understood.

Spock sighs, remembering that he survived telling Jim about his Time. Upon further evaluation, that is not the best example with which to bolster his courage. He manages to refrain from closing his eyes. "The swellings you felt are not hematomas, as such, although they have suffered injury in today's events. They are the _chenesi_ , or primary testes of a Vulcan male."

Jim swallows. "Oh."

"They do not usually respond as they did just now. That generally happens during _pon farr_ , when the sperm production has reached the point at which release must occur."

Jim swallows again, harder. "'Generally'?"

Spock looks at the mental desert spread before him. It is frozen, impossible, antithetical to life – much as the view from his window.

"Spock. 'Generally'?"

"It has been theorized that extreme ... emotional attraction and mental compatibility could induce a similar state to _pon farr_." His words are so quiet that he wonders if Jim heard them.

"We have melded a few times," Jim muses. "Could that make it happen?"

"Not by itself, nor without very high compatibility."

"So, we are—"

"Extremely compatible."

They are sitting side by side, both looking straight ahead. Nonetheless, Spock can see the corner of Jim's mouth twitching upward in what is most likely a smile. He also cannot help but notice the brightness of Jim's eye.

"Emotional attraction...."

Spock shifts, having no luck willing his erection away. On the contrary, it seems to have hardened more. "Extreme mental compatibility can produce strong emotional attraction."

"Are you emotionally attracted to me, Mister Spock?" It is gentle, without any trace of chiding or teasing, but also blessedly free of want.

"Yes." It does not rip his psyche as he had been expecting.

"As I am to you." Jim turns to him. "What happens if I touch you now?"

"It would ... not be wise." Spock turns his eyes to the floor.

"Why not?"

Despite his difficulty, Spock rises from the bed and makes his way to his luggage. He removes the disc from its compartment and hands it to Jim, careful not to touch even the smallest particle of skin. "This should provide you with all necessary information and cautions. I believe that a separation between us is necessary at this time so that I may regain sufficient composure to await your thoughts."

Jim opens his mouth, as if to speak, but then appears to reconsider. "Very well, Spock. I'll be in my room, if you need me."

Spock forces himself to remain silent, lest he betray himself and his friend of a lifetime. He nods, grateful for everything that is Jim Kirk when his gesture is accepted and Jim leaves without further ado.

He kneels in front of the fire shrine provided by the hotel management, and prepares himself for the deepest available meditation.

*****

Kirk sits by the fire. If he still has any vestige of hypothermia, he doesn't know where it is. He read the disc all the way through, and he cannot, for the life of him, find one reason not to propose a bonding to Spock.

But he tries, because he knows just how much he has enjoyed his wild sex life, and just how vital – literally vital – the bond is for a Vulcan. For that matter, it's pretty damned important to most humans, as well, though lifetime monogamous fidelity isn't the coerced societal norm on Earth that it once was. Not quite, anyway.

Kirk hasn't thought of himself as the marrying type. He is, first and foremost, a career Starfleet officer, the youngest person ever to be promoted to Captain, and now at the helm of its flagship. Having a long-term, emotional commitment under those circumstances seems insane to him. It always has, even though his father laughed at him for it. But Spock ... Spock is with him every day, except during shore leave. And now, they're even together doing that. Jim can't remember the last time he made love to a woman.

Yes, he can. It was Miramanee, but he didn't even remember who he was when he was with her. Before that, it was Edith. That still hurts. And Spock gets it. He gets it about Miramanee, too. Would that still be the case if they bonded? The disc he read seems to suggest overwhelming jealousy concerning any romantic entanglement, going so far as to recommend a mind-wipe of any previous involvement.

Then again, this is a Vulcan disc, produced for humans seeking romantic entanglement with Vulcans. Not that Kirk thinks that the Vulcan Science Academy would stoop to such tactics, but perhaps there would be reason for them to discourage such unions wherever possible. After all, Spock's very existence is an anomaly – an experiment conducted by scientists and diplomats to promote IDIC, and one that illuminated many cracks in Vulcan logic and claims of superior intellect and social evolution. Kirk doesn't know anyone who was more viciously bullied as a child than Spock.

Kirk may not know much about Vulcan ways. Hell, he doesn't know any human who does, except for Amanda and M'Benga, and Miranda who was an exception to every rule he knew. But he does know Spock. He _knows_ Spock. And he loves Spock down to the very depths of his soul. It's as hard to remember a time when he didn't as it is to figure out when physical attraction became part of the mix. Maybe it always was.

They are both of command rank, and close enough in echelon that there shouldn't be a problem with the current fraternization clause. Similarly, the Federation is required to grant dependency postings to bonded pairs involving Vulcans. Kirk notes the irony that that is due to T'Pau's involvement in Spock's _pon farr_ and his own 'death' at Spock's hands. He wonders now if she reached beyond Vulcan and changed Federation law to tell him something. He leans back in his chair and laughs silently.

*****

Spock is deep in meditation when he feels Jim next to him. He brings himself back from it in smooth, easy stages, refreshed when he returns to a fully aware state.

"I have a few things to discuss with you." Jim is sober, calm.

"I am ready."

"First of all, I don't think you're in _pon farr_."

Spock nods. "That would seem to be the case after my meditation."

Jim shakes his head. "According to that disc, it is not possible to initiate that imbalance by stimulating the _chenesi_. Also, your _pon farr_ was ended by the _kal-if-fee_ , which means that you're not due to experience it again for about five and a half years."

Spock listens, controlling the blood flow to his face.

"You didn't know this, did you? You weren't expecting to hear it." Jim gazes at him. "You never read the disc."

"Vulcans do not speak of these things."

"Most advanced planet in the Federation and they don't even give their kids sex ed," Jim mutters. "And relax, would you? You look like you're going to explode."

"I was unaware of any such tension," Spock retorts. It costs him control of his blood vessels, and he feels himself flush a hot green.

"Now let's talk about what does happen when the _chenesi_ are stimulated outside of _pon farr_. It means that you're sick, you've been injured, you've been hit with a telepathic mating bond from someone else who's in their Time, or you've had an aborted _pon farr_ and you should mate with someone."

"I am not sick," Spock says. The words sound flat, even to his own ears.

"No, you're not. But you have been injured. Do you think it was a strong enough blow to have caused them to swell like that?"

"No."

"Okay, telepathic mating bond. Have you been around anyone in _pon farr_ lately?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"And with your telepathic experience, you'd probably notice if someone imposed such a thing on you."

"Undoubtedly."

"So that leaves the aborted _pon farr_. Did you know that when you take part in the Challenge and win, you're supposed to copulate and release the build-up of sperm, even if no mating bond takes place?"

"No." Spock can taste the embarrassment as a tang of sulfide in his mouth.

"How long have you carried that disc around with you?"

"Since I left for Starfleet Academy. My parents imposed it upon me at the behest of the Vulcan Science Academy."

"I don't mean to invade your privacy, Spock." Jim's voice is gentle and warm, everything that Spock needs and despises right now. "My only concern is that there are things you don't know about your own body that you probably should research. Needless to say, I'm not saying a word about this to anyone."

Spock lifts a challenging eyebrow.

"Especially McCoy."

Spock relaxes.

"And I'm not sure I'd trust that disc, entirely. Is it really necessary to have one's memory of all previous relationships erased before bonding with a Vulcan?"

Spock is truly startled by that question. "I have no reason to believe that such is the case. In fact, my mother speaks fondly of some of her previous ... entanglements, though not often in the presence of my father."

"I have some previous entanglements that I don't want erased, and that I want to feel I can discuss with you. Your support has meant a great deal to me, and I wouldn't want to lose that."

It takes far too long for Spock to register the implications of what Jim has just said. "I would see no need for cessation of such discussion."

"Then, Spock, child of Sarek, I would marry thee, according to the custom of my people, and when thy time comes, I would bond with thee, according to the custom of thine."

Spock finds himself unable to speak.

"Spock?" Jim touches his arm.

Spock launches himself at Jim, crushing the soft lips to his own, all pretense of calm gone.

Jim opens to him after two point seven seconds of hesitation due to startlement, and then they are kissing, drinking of each other in earnest as Spock has longed to do from the moment he first laid eyes on Jim.

They roll and stumble towards the bed, stripped of meditation robe and dressing gown before they're even halfway there.

Spock tries to rut against Jim, but Jim hisses, "Bed! You have to penetrate me."

Spock pulls back with an effort of will almost as great as that of speaking during the _plak tow_. "I will not hurt thee!"

"Not if we're on the bed, you won't." Jim kisses him and escapes just in time. "I prepared myself." He sits on the bed, holding his arms out to Spock. "Don't worry about m-Mmffff!"

Spock is on him, kissing him, bending him, plunging into him.

Jim cries out and reaches desperately for Spock's hand, guiding it to his face.

There is pain – so much pain that Spock gasps – but there is also Jim saying _It's all right. I love you. I'll love this._ Spock stills his own movement and reaches out to Jim, soothing pain, pouring his gratitude and desire into the meld.

Jim gasps and thrusts down to capture more of Spock's penis inside of him.

Spock hisses, trying to control himself and not hurt Jim.

"Let go, Spock, I'm all right." Jim thrusts up, his penis hard and heavy as it slaps against Spock's abdomen. "See?" He smiles.

Spock loses his battle and thrusts with abandon, his orgasm crashing through him and making him cry out as he feels the small of his back tighten and release and his ejaculate pour from him in wave after long wave.

Jim tightens around him, joining him in orgasm and crying out Spock's name, encouraging him for more.

When it is over, Spock withdraws carefully, painfully aware once again of the bruises and wounds that Jim treated earlier.

Jim smiles at him, stroking his face and kissing him. "So I take it that was a 'yes'?"

Spock looks up at him and runs two fingers along his cheek. For the second time in his adult life, and without alien influence, he smiles.

Jim's face glows with affection. "Maybe this trip wasn't such a bad idea, after all."

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt read as follows:
> 
> "During a rare shoreleave on Earth over the holidays, Kirk persuades Spock to try skiing/ice skating/building snowmen/other activities which involve a combination of outdoors and freezing conditions."


End file.
